


Fuck the Title I Can't Think of One

by TheKingIsDead (witch_lit)



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Angst, Confusion, Diary, Experiment, High School, Journal, M/M, almost-love, analyze
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-04
Updated: 2012-11-07
Packaged: 2017-11-15 16:04:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 10,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/529041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witch_lit/pseuds/TheKingIsDead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frerard (suck on that) Frank and Gerard have a bumpy start, Gerard being the plastic boy he is... but perhaps Gerard is a brighter crayon than he pretends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fuck the End Let's Start at the Beginning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bvbvrocks](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=bvbvrocks).



> This might be a slower updated fic, but poke me with a stick (or just ask and I'll post. I'm being slow with my posts because I'm a lazy arse. Also, the title is indeed deliberate.

I have never known why he did it.  
  
I'll never find out, either.  
  
I can still remember the first time I saw him-- he was a cocky little fucker that I couldn't stand. His bright red hair made me look past the deep contradictions of his attitude and his eyes. His friends weren't the brightest crayons in the box, but at the time, he acted like he was the same as them, stupid and ignorant.  
  
Capitalism at its finest.   
  
Gerard would walk through the school like he owned it. And I, the new kid, just happened to accidentally drop my lunch tray in front of him, splattering unidentafiable lunch meat all over his "new converse".   
  
I remember he asked me to lick off the mess.  
  
I had looked at him like he was crazy, but he just smirked and repeated his demands. "Fuck no!" I finally said, surprising him. There was a strange look in his eyes, like relief, when I said that. I dismissed it. From then on I hated his guts.  
  
It just goes to show how little I knew about him. I thought he was genuinely the person his popular friends thought he was--he knew all of their shitty music, and had an Aberzombie shirt or two. He laughed at all the stupid jokes made by the jocks, he went to their parties and helped them grow their unhealthily large egos.  
  
I didn't like him. I didn't really care, though. He was just another popular dickhead that existed to make my punk, teenage high school days miserable. He was what every high school requires.   
  
I saw him in the records store one day. I almost did a double tale. Hell, I did a double take. I only recognized his hair. His bright red hair, for the first time, looked out of place against his Misfits hoodie and Smashing Pumpkins t-shirt, complete with his usual black converse and dark purple skinny jeans. I couldn't help but gawk. At the change, of course, but also his newly found... sexy.  
  
He, of course, noticed my stares. "What?" He snapped. Then his eyes widened. "You're that punk kid from school..."  
  
I was so surprised he had so much as noticed me at school. "Sorry." I muttered, turning back to the selection of Social Distortion CDs. I could feel him looking me over, drinking me all in. It's my turn to look up, a slightly annoyed sentence escaping my lips. "If you want to stare, take a damn picture and get it fucking over with."  
  
"I'm sorry, it's just...never mind." He coughed, digging through the assortment of Rise Against musical choices.  
  
"Just what?" I ask, a bit bitterly. "If you want to say something, just spit it out."  
  
He shakes his head. "Please, don't tell anyone about seeing me here." He said, almost sadly, as he picked up a CD and proceeded to the checkout desk.  
  
The next day, at school, he was back to his Aberzombie shirts and with the popular crowd, talking to them about their shitty music, not that I expected differently. I heard someone bring up a few bands he had been looking at the day prior, and the only hint that he didn't agree with the shit-talking of the bands was a slight eye-twitch.   
  
That's when I really started to wonder if Gerard Way was a real person. I'd always felt him an empty doll, nothing special, just a cunt flaunting his good looks for a booty call from one of the whores--excuse me, the cheerleaders.  
  
A week later my parents told me we were taking in a foster kid for a year. I wasn't too happy about that. They told me some of the little things they knew about him-- he liked coffee. That was about all I heard about the mysterious kid, besides that it would be a boy. One night, my parents came to talk to me about him.  
  
"Frankie, honey, we need to talk to you about the foster boy who'll be here in a few days." My mother had started. I groaned like the teenager I was.  
  
"Frank, this is serious." My father said sternly. I sighed and nodded.  
  
"The boy, well, hasn't really had the best life." My mom told me. I resisted the urge to say 'no shit, he's in fucking foster care.'  
  
"He is your age, but two years ago, when he was fourteen, he... He had to watch his parents be mutilated to death." My father said gravely.  
  
"So he has a Batman complex?" I joked, knowing full well there was nothing funny about the situation.   
  
"Frank!" My mother scolded.  
  
I sighed. "I know it isn't funny."  
  
"It sure isn't. The boy's brother committed suicide shortly afterwards. He'll be here Sunday. His current foster parents live across town, so you can meet him when we get more information on him if you want."  
  
I nodded, making my way to my room. I hoped Mom wouldn't go on a cleaning spree for this kid. I did not want to have to clean for the purposes of an undesired (by me) housemate.  
  
Sunday rolled around, and not a speck of dirt could be found, the uncleanliness fearing for its existence at the wrath of my mother. Sadly she didn't forget to make me clean my room.  
  
The boy would be dropped off tonight, six-ish. I heard a faint knock on the door, and slowly made my way to the door--opening it to reveal a red haired, very familiar boy.  
  
"Gerard Way?" I had asked, so genuinely surprised. _The_ Gerard way, king of the school, a foster kid? Dead parents and a brother whose suicidal thoughts got the best of? It had to be a mistake.  
  
"F-Frank Iero?" Gerard stuttered, obviously as surprised as me. I took a second to squeal inwardly, he knew my name! How can you blame me for wanting to tap that sexy ass? A gay boy's delight, might I have said. Stupid whorish cheerleaders, keeping him all to themselves...not that I had ever, in all my time sharing schools with him (a year), seen him look even remotely interested in a cheerleader, or any girl come to think of it...   
  
Gerard smiled nervously. "This is my new foster home, isn't it?" He asked. So it wasn't some crazy mistake!  
  
I nodded, stepping back to let him into the house. He dragged in a battered black suitcase, adorned with band pins and patches. I like all the bands... Gerard pretends he doesn't like them at school. This is so weird.  
  
"Thanks." He mutters, pulling off his unlaced converse. I nod in response.  
  
"Is he here yet?" my mother called from the kitchen.  
  
"Yeah." I called back.  
  
It was his first night, after my parents had fallen asleep, that I wandered past Gerard's room. I could hear the faint sounds of... Crying.  
  
I knocked on the door. "Gerard... You okay?" I called quietly, as to not wake my parents. I slowly opened the door after receiving no response, only to find Gerard hugging one of his Aberzombie shirts, tears wetting it (that sounds diiiiirty a/n, BTW) with tears as whimpers escaped his lips.  
  
He looked up as I walked into the room, then buried his face back in the brightly colored cloth, mumbling something I didn't quite catch.  
  
I felt bad for Gerard. The contradictions of his eyes and attitude made sense to me. He had lost everything to put his all into acting insignificant. He successfully made himself insignificant, too, by putting himself at the center of a load of dully colored crayons, hiding his true identity with false advertising.  
  
I sat next to him on his bed, and put my hand on his back. "It'll be alright." I muttered, feelings sympathetic, an almost foreign concept for me.  
  
"How do you know?" He spits. "It's not like you know what I'm feeling."  
  
I sigh. "I will never, ever know what you're feeling. I'll never go through the same experiences, so you are right. I know shit about this kind of thing. But it'll work out, just wait." I smiled, patting his back gently.  
  
He studied me for a moment or so, but it wasn't really all that uncomfortable.  
  
"It's nice." He decided.   
  
I scrunched my eyebrows, confused.  
  
"That you don't pretend to know what I'm going through." He clarified, offering me a small smile.  
  
"I ain't no pretender." I say, offering him a mix of a smile and a smirk.  
  
And that was when I first started to unravel the mystery of Gerard Way.


	2. Fuck the Lie It's Beautiful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gerard's lying, lying about everything.

Gerard had been his usual charming self at school the day after he moved in-- perfectly pressed shirts, laughing with all the football players. I was willing to bet none of them knew about his "situation". The, you know, fact he was living with me because his parents were murdered. That might have downed his popularity- or increased it. Who can tell what those faded lightbulbs think in what everyone calls their prime-- the prime of their selfishness, the prime of their looks. If this was their prime as people, the world needed less people.

Gerard and I fell into a pattern. We didn't talk, didn't so much as glance at each other during school hours. Outside of school wasn't much different, he was often with his popular "friends". Or so I thought.

Have you ever met those people who act completely sober even when stoned? Who you really just can't tell if they've they stolen the vodka from the cupboard? Gerard is one of those people. I didn't tell my parents when I smelt the alcohol on his breath. The first time I thought it was a mistake. The second time, well, I was curious.

It's fairly easy in a school filled with idiots to find out the latest gossip and news, especially that concerning one of the "lions", the super populars like Gerard. All I had to do was sit behind the orange girls in art class and I heard their gossip. I learnt that Gerard hadn't been hanging around with the "lions" as much anymore, that he would disappear every now and then and go home. The girls thought nothing much of it, but it was discussed merely because there wasn't much interesting going on at the moment. 

That made me beyond suspicious. If Gerard wasn't with his friends, where was he? Was he getting someone else to buy him alcohol? Was he out drinking by himself, or with others, trying to forget his problems? Was he trying to invisibly drown himself in alcohol, trying to wash away all his problems with a liver-destroying substance? 

It annoyed me, it really did. Gerard was so strange, so hot and cold. Preppy, then punk. 

At school, Gerard was his usual dickish self. He stayed with his usual group of friends, laughed at their cruelly made jokes and sang along to their music. I wasn’t surprised that he ignored me, though. 

He was filmed over, there was a net between him and the world that I didn’t think he could handle loosing. 

He was so fake, he was so artificial and yet only I could see the plastic wrap drowning out his other self, the person I actually didn’t hate. It was amazing, actually. The change in Gerard from week to week-end.

On the weekends, sometimes he’d hang out with the popular crowd from school, and sometimes he’d sit in his room, and just stay there all day, dressed like the kids who get bullied by the popular crowd, not one of the popular boys. 

I saw him dressed in black, I saw him dressed in white. I saw two sides of Gerard while almost everyone else only got to see one. I knew there were more sides in Gerard, I knew that he’d never let anyone see three of them, I knew he wouldn’t share another side with me for the world. 

At least, he wouldn’t do it consciously. 

I knew that I’d have to rip Gerard apart to ever learn anything about him, that I’d have to sink my teeth into his flesh and tare at the skin before he ever submitted to my will, and he would hardly do so without reluctance. 

Gerard would not be an easy case to crack, he would be biting and kicking and screaming as I dragged him to the edge and pushed him over, he wouldn’t want go down. Maybe, though, I could push him over the edge without him noticing, without him feeling the world rush up underneath him and spew him across its barren lands. 

He was the type of person who would cross his ‘I’s and dot his ‘t’s when he could get away with it, fake ignorance to the pain and hate burning inside him when he could. He had weak moments, no doubt those moments alone in his room, the moments that stained alcohol to his breath.

It was something so strange, it was so weird to catch Gerard in a memory, his eyes glazed over at tears spilled down his cheeks, the tears almost seeming ashamed to be there as he didn’t notice them. 

Gerard didn’t take any notice of the neglected tears, letting them slide down his face as he kept his head slightly angled down, his face completely blank as useless tears drip down it awfully, but his eyes betrayed his nearly undefeatable poker face.

“Gerard?” I asked, walking into his room. 

He didn’t hear me, he was too caught up in drowning under his own thoughts and the music I could faintly hear from across the room. It wasn’t the stuff his friends liked, it was Slayer pounding into his head. It made me smile a bit, and frown a bit, knowing that Gerard could lie so well to everyone. 

That Gerard liked both pop and metal, listened to the emotionless peppy voices of mainstream “popular” artist and the powerful guitar of shattered souls, that Gerard could be so popular yet so hated, hold such a deep loathing. 

And God, it was such a beautiful lie. 

It was perfectly crafted of hate, pain and an eating emptiness that could easily devour souls. Gerard was filled with hate, filled with pain, filled with unnamable emotions. Yet somehow he was so empty. 

It was easily mistaken for being wretched, but that’s not what his lie is. Some say lies are horrible, despicable things that really need to stop being such a common occurance. I agree, to some extent. 

Lies are twisted and deformed by those who have no reason to lie, or aren’t artists. So many try to grasp the art of lying, but mostly it just slips through their fingers. 

“Gerard?” I call again, seeing if he’ll notice me. He doesn’t, his soul crushing music blaring too loudly in his ears.

I smile softly, letting this chance to discover more about him pass. He’s so full of emptying, heavy emotions. And for now, just a little longer, I don’t want to destroy a near perfect lie.


	3. Fuck the Animal I'm Mechanical

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gerard's drowning

Gerard was drowning. He was being pulled inside the earth, his skin tearing on the rough rocks that snagged against his skin. He was letting the pain wash over him, letting his mind be trashed and torn, his eyes glazed over in a helpless haze.  
  
He was around, but he was so gone. He walked around our house with vacant eyes, a slow speed as something ate up his insides, if he even still had any left. He did nothing with a passion, every move he made was mechanical. Even at school, I had started to notice his movements weren't as fluent as they could be.  
  
Gerard Way; fake, empty, alone. A mechanical animal.  
  
I almost laughed at the thought. I had always known him to be fake and empty, but I had never expected him to be alone. Alone, surrounded by people. That's the worst kind of loneliness, or so I had heard.   
  
I'd never been alone like that. I had a friend, a nice enough guy with a brown Afro. He was cool, we hung out, did some things together. We were best friends, so of course he noticed my obsession with Gerard.  
  
"Dude, stop staring at that Way kid. It's kinda creepy." Ray told me one day.  
  
"I wasn't staring!" I had been staring, no doubt about it. It had become a fascination for me, comparing the black and white sides of Gerard, observing how they mushed together in a watered down, helpless grey.  
  
"Dude, you were totally staring." Ray pressed on, scoffing at my denial.  
  
"Whatever. You think Pikachu is male." I countered easily, turning the subject to something I knew would distract my nosy Afro headed friend.  
  
"Pikachu is a boy!" Ray yelled, outraged that I dare think otherwise.  
  
I rolled my eyes. "Pikachu is obviously a chick."  
  
Ray's mouth hung open in horror. "You did not just go there!"  
  
I smirked defiantly. "I think I just did."  
  
I only half payed attention to my own argument, but lunch hour ended before Ray could completely squash my half-hearted resistance. Thankfully, Ray left the enormous topic that is Gerard alone.  
  
**  
  
Some might have said Gerard was bipolar, not completely understanding the term. Gerard was a person of multiple interests, of no true home and no true reality, floating on a cloud. He wasn't bipolar, he didn't stay with one opinion for long periods of time, he switched his views every twelve to eight hours on weekdays, confusing everyone.  
  
When Gerard had first come home from school in his preppy clothes, mom liked him well enough. Thought he was a bit weird, liking all those light things, but gave him his freedom granted he didn't push his views on anyone else.  
  
Imagine her shock at seeing Gerard dressed in black for the first time, looking nearly as punk as I did. She actually thought he had stolen my clothes, and asked him to give them back to me, thinking he was mocking me. I laughed, and she looked bewildered. What was wrong with her child?  
  
I explained that the clothes on Gerard were indeed his, and she was pleasantly surprised, any trace of annoyance gone from her small body. "Oh dear, why don't you dress like that all the time? It looks awful nice on you."  
  
Gerard just muttered something incomprehensible about one thing or another, not meeting my mothers eyes. There might have been a thank you in the jumble of words that barely manage to pass his hardly moving lips.  
  
My mom had smiled, accepting the unintelligible words with ease. She chuckled a bit, too. She liked Gerard, thought he was that perfect amount of insane.   
  
I thought he had long since reached the point of insanity, and was swimming in a self created pool of it. He was over the edge, perhaps hanging from a long coil of rope. Maybe he'd already let go.  
  
But my mother thought Gerard was happy. She never heard him cry himself to sleep, rarely saw but never noticed the hollow looks he gave. She never noticed how washed out he looked, or that the healthy glow he wore was sprayed on.   
  
It seemed you could only see the terror of Gerard Way if you knew to look, if you bothered to look for any pain. But that was the sad part, wasn't it? That Gerard was dying, was dead, and only I could seem to see it.  
  
The world was so twisted, so ugly and such an unforgiving place. You Could see the sorrow rolling off Gerard if you cared to look, but that was the catch. No one ever looked.  
  
My parents cared about Gerard, to some extent. They were trying to make him happy, but were too caught up in their own pride to notice they were failing.  
  
It was awful, in my mind. Yet my parents were only human, only what they were wired to be and nothing more. They really weren't people of significance, nor was I.   
  
Gerard was.   
  
He was twisted and deformed, loved and hated in the perfect balance that brought him to insanity. Maybe he wasn't insane. I know I thought he was, in one way or another.   
  
Maybe it was everyone else that was losing their minds. No, it had to be him. He showed off his toned chest in gym class, then cowered into himself at home. It was so stupid, yet I was so undeniably fascinated.  
  
I asked him, one day at home, why he hung around with the popular crowd when he was such a different person outside of school.  
  
"It's the easiest option." Gerard shrugged.  
  
I cocked my head. "What you talkin' 'bout? You listen to Slayer, and then you agree when your 'friends' insult the same band."  
  
"They don't ask questions." Was all the more he would say on the matter.  
  
So I assumed there were questions that needed to be asked.


	4. Fuck Being Okay, I'm Not

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a special day for Gerard.

Gerard was smiling as he walked into the house, so far past his curfew. It wasn't really a happy smile, it was a smile that said he was glad to forget whatever it was that normally kept him from smiling. It was a smile that annoyed my parents greatly.  
  
"Gerard, it's 10 o'clock. Where were you?" My mother commanded as soon as Gerard sales through the door. He looked at her and grinned.  
  
"I was out again, I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were my mom." He said. He was drunk. But not the drunk I'd come to expect of him, he was even worse than usual. If I didn't know any better, I'd say he was a little bit tipsy. But I knew better, knew he was probably drowning in alcohol.  
  
Mom frowned. "Gerard, I'll never be your mom. But as long as you live in my house, you live under my rules. You need to follow the curfew I set for you, which was three hours ago. You had us worried!"  
  
Gerard shrugged. "Then kick me out. You're not the first, and you won't be the last.  I've been kicked out of so many homes... None of them are my home, though, so it doesn't really matter."  
  
Dad frowned. "Gerard, it's not that hard to come home at seven. Can't you just do that for us?"  
  
"Fuck no! I ain't gotta do nothing for no one, that's what Mikey said!" Gerard grinned. "I love Mikey so much. Can't wait to see that boy again."  
  
I couldn't help but wonder who Mikey was, especially after the way my parents flinched at the name. Was Mikey someone Gerard shouldn't hang out with? I wanted to know. I wanted to know everything.  
  
"Gerard... Are you high?" My mother asked. Why couldn't Gerard talk about his Mikey character?  
  
"Nope, just drank a bit more than I should have." Gerard smiled. "You haven't seen Mikey, have you? Jeez, he's so good at hiding!"  
  
My mother paled. "Frank, I want you to put Gerard to bed."  
  
I frowned. Why did I have to take care of a drunk Gerard? On a second thought, it could be a good time to get dirt on my most recent obsession. "Fine."  
  
My mother smiled. "Thanks, honey. I'll see you two tomorrow."  
  
"Come on, Gerard. Let's go upstairs." I said to the drunk adolescent, sighing. This was not going to a pleasant experience. I just hoped Gerard wouldn't throw up on me and I could get some valuable information on him and this Mikey character.  
  
"Gerard, why did you get so drunk?" I asked as I started to remove his Aberzombie and Bitch shirt once we were in his room.  He let me take of his clothes, let me close enough to smell the reeking alcohol on his breath.  It was sad, that one of the most popular students at school had been turned into this mess of constant alcohol, but it wasn't all that unpredictable. Alcoholics were made every day, after all.  
  
"... Mom and Dad were killed today." Gerard whispered. My eyes widened. Oh God... No wonder he was upset. I would probably drink my brains out on the date of my parents death too, especially if I had had to watch it like Gerard did.  
  
"I'm sorry." I told him. I never knew his parents, never met anyone he was related to, but I was sorry that it drove him to drink. Sorry that he had to witness his parents last painful moments, sorry that those moments caused his brother to be driven over the edge.   
  
Gerard frowned. "Don't say that. You never knew them. They were... They weren't the best parents, but... They brought me into this world, and I.. I had to watch them be taken out of it." A tear dropped from Gerard's eye, then another and another until he was sobbing onto my shoulder.  
  
I wrapped my arms around him, trying to comfort him. I rubbed his bare back, shushing him with soft breaths, trying to allow him to let all his tears out and wishing he didn't have a reason to cry. If he didn't have a reason to cry, I never would have met him. And if I had never met him, I wouldn't have such a confusing puzzle to figure out. So I maybe his parents being dead was something I should be grateful for, a toy to keep me entertained as I watched it break.  
  
"It'll be alright." I told him. I was lying, I couldn't possibly know if he would be alright. It wasn't really something I could easily describe, my wish for Gerard. I wanted to know everything about him, yet I wanted no part of the person he was at school that would cruelly attempt to crush me with very little guilt about it. Or maybe there would be guilt in him; I could never seem to predict Gerard.  
  
Gerard sniffled, his desperate sobbing toning down. "No. No, it won't be alright. Mom... Mom had so many cuts, there were... Dad, there  were so many burns... It was all my fault, too. All my fault." It was something deep, something dark that ate away at Gerard. He knew everything that happened to his parents and could have told me everything if he so desired. He knew how awful people could be, knew the exact harshness in the cruelty of the world and it twisted him up and left him broken, behind yet so far ahead in the race of life.  
  
I was shocked, though, that he thought it was his fault. I couldn't help but wonder how Gerard could believe his parents being killed in front of him was his fault. How could such a vile thing like that be his fault? He may have been an alcoholic, or not the nicest fucker on the planet but he didn't kill his parents, that was someone else.   
  
"It wasn't your fault." I hugged him tighter to emphasize my point. "Don't you go thinking that something so awful and out of your control was ever your fault. Neither you or you brother could have been at fault."  
  
Something broke within Gerard when those words I so stupidly spoke were uttered. I should have kept my mouth shut, I shouldn't have mentioned a sore subject like his brother. But I did, and had to deal with a crying Gerard because of it. A bawling Gerard, more like. My neck was soaked in salty tears, my ears full of sobs and my eyes could see the loathing flowing off Gerard.   
  
"Mikey... I want to see Mikey. I want to see him so bad." Gerard cried, and I began to put the pieces together, understand why my Mom thought Gerard had been high. "I just want to see my baby brother!"  
  
I ground my teeth together. Gerard should be able to see Mikey, should still be with his brother. That's what brothers were for, wasn't it? "Gerard... You can't see Michael."  
  
Gerard let out a heart wrenching sob. "I know, Frank! I know! I can't see Mikey because he's dead, because I wasn't good enough of a brother to keep him alive!"  
  
I frowned. "Gerard, it's not your fault. You can't keep blaming yourself."  
  
It took a while, but eventually I got Gerard to stop crying. I got him to pull on his pajamas, leaving the room as he put on his bottoms, and I took him to his bed. I set the alarm for him, I made sure his body was covered by a dark colored blanket. I was silent; he needed this day to himself. He deserved to get drunk and be left alone on a day as historical for him as this one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meh. THe next chapter is at school, methinks.


	5. Fuck the Bullets I'm Already Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Popularity is a strange thing.

Gym. Such an ugly word, even without the meaning to back it up. I always hated the word, it seemed to roll of my tongue all wrong and somehow fall in a heap out of my disgusted lips.  The meaning behind the word wasn't particularly welcomed either.  
  
My school required Gym, or Physical Education courses to be taken at least one semester every year. You can play a sport, swim, hell, you can play pingpong, or you can get stuck in a sweaty class with all the other rejects and physically unfit kids.  
  
It always amazed me how Gerard was in my class, taking no choice activity such as football with his friends. He somehow ended up in the class along with me and my curly haired best friend, looking out of place. His polo shirts weren't welcomed in the class of misfits. Though I suppose no one was a bigger misfit than Gerard.  
  
Gerard was a loner in the class that had been split up by cliques, though some of the wannabes tried talking to him at the start of the lesson. He didn't respond, or shrugged them off. He as fine with being surrounded by cliques of nerds and punks like me and Ray. He as fine with being alone.  
  
"Kids, it has come to the teacher's attention that there is a strong group of cliques here. In an effort to stop the cliques from fighting and encourage friendship, we're going to partner you up and you'll work with that partner for the semester. Okay?" The Gym teacher, an fit elderly woman with silver hair announced to the class, her speech followed by moans from the students. I certainly didn't want to get paired with someone I couldn't stand; but I suppose no one did. "None of that! Now, when I call your name I want you to collect a racquet for badminton and I'll tell you your partner."  
  
Person after person went up, some more happy with their partners than others. At least there are no down right enemies in Gym. Though a fight between a nerd and a drama freak could be interesting, I didn't really want to deal with that in gym. The class is bad enough without the old bag harping on us for fighting.  
  
"Franklin Iero!" The elderly creature announced, and I stood up off the hard wood floor to collect my props for today's sport. I made sure to take my time choosing a racquet; the school's gym budget was shit so half of the racquets handles were wooden and splintering, the stringed sections coming apart in some cases. I got a good one, and a shuttlecock from the old, skinny woman in blue polyester shorts and long tube socks in the color of white.  
  
"You'll be partnered with Mr. Way." The teacher told me. My eyes widened. I... I was going to be partnered with Gerard? Working with him... Would be strange. Awkward, perhaps. He was popular. I wasn't. We, being of different social status, couldn't talk or laugh with one another. It was considered unacceptable, even of the cast system wasn't in use any longer. Maybe I could learn something about him, though.   
  
The gym teacher called Gerard next, and he searched for a racquet of his own before deciding on one. The handle was all taped up and no doubt sticky, but at least the head only had the holes that were supposed to be there. When the teacher told Gerard with whom he was going to be partnered with (that would be me), his eyebrows raised but he said nothing. He walked over to me and we stood about ten feet apart, and I hit the shuttlecock to him.  
  
Gerard hit the birdie back to me, and it became a mellow match of wrist snapping capabilities. The trick of badminton was to flick your wrist to hit the birdie, not move your whole arm. When you just used your wrist, it saved energy and increased aim. We didn't move our feet, we remained rooted in our spots because we were in complete control of the game.  
  
No words were exchanged, Gerard was silent as we passed the shuttlecock back and forth. There were no compliments on each other's skills, no jokes about how inappropriately named some pieces of equipment were. If I had been partnered with Ray, I would have had to listen to where exactly I could shove my shuttle **cock** , about how smooth the shaft of the racquet was.   
  
But Gerard and I were silent, we just played badminton like we were instructed. Gerard was frowning, but it was strange. It was a frown that told you he was displeased, but it wasn't the frown or broken look he'd sometimes wear outside of school. He was frowning for the wrong kind of sad.  
  
I was kind of scared of Gerard. How he could completely change his personality so suddenly, so often. It was amazing, it was strange and it had me so interested in why. Why would Gerard be two people when he could be one, why risk his popularity for his habit of dressing and acting like a misfit after school?   
  
It didn't make sense, and I wanted to know why. Why he did it. So of course I had to start a conversation in gym the next day.  
  
"So... How is it going with Sarah?" I asked him between passes of the shuttlecock. Sara was rumored to have blown Gerard in the supply room yesterday, so of course I thought that would be a good way to start a conversation.  
  
Gerard scoffed. "What are you talking about?"  
  
"Um, well... Rumor has it she blew you in the supply closet. It is true, isn't it?" I explain, trying to seem like I knew what I was talking about. I knew the rumor, of course, I just didn't know how to properly talk to someone of the popular status, even of Gerard is a normal human back at home.  
  
Gerard chuckles. "Tsk, no. That never happened. I don't date."   
  
My eyes widened. Since when do the populars not date? He must have  been some kind of mutant. He didn't date, didn't play any sports. How the fuck was he popular? I decided to ask.  
  
"Well, it wasn't that hard. I'm reasonably well looking, and I know how to behave properly for one of them. I know the music they like, the shows they watch on the television. When one of the popular girls tried to have sex with me once, I said I wouldn't tell her boyfriend if she made me popular." He shrugged.  
  
My mind was blown. Gerard became popular by saving a cheerleader's doomed relationship and acting the part? It couldn't be that easy, could it? No... But why would he ever want to be popular? It seemed like such a hassle, talking to people about stuff you didn't like.  
  
"Why do you want to be popular?" I asked.  
  
"I don't." Was all he said, and the subject was dropped. We didn't talk for the rest of the hour, just passed the birdie back and forth between us. It wasn't tense, it wasn't awkward.   
  
Gerard wasn't wearing his fake frown, either.   
  
His eyes were suddenly filled with sadness, overwhelming emotional pain I'd never seen him display at school before. He looked like he did at home-- lost, broken and beat down. The damn blue polo shirt ruined the effect, though. It made the image that much more twisted in such a wrong way, it really did amaze me. The way Gerard made his clothes and actions at times contradict was almost artistic, sadly artistic in a way that made you want to either watch him forever or pull your arms around him and hug him, comfort him.  
  
Gerard Way; the popular misfit who wants to drop the popular part of his title, yet won't. Why does he keep his status if he doesn't want it? He could come to school in his clothes he wears at home and his popularity would be gone. Absolutely destroyed. Yet he doesn't.


	6. Fuck Defying Gravity I'm Staying Grounded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hate fills some people.

Gerard was an unlikely puzzle. He was all alone, surrounded by a room of people who adored his falsities, pretending he was okay when he so clearly was not. Clear to me, anyway. I doubt anyone else noticed the way that there was always a hidden depth in Gerard's eye.  
It was strange, at least to me, that someone could have such a level of complexity that I just couldn't even fully comprehend the situation, even though I was staring right at it.   
  
Gerard wasn't the best example of a human; certainly not. But he certainly was a good example of an odd human, something I could relate to.   
Gerard; the popular boy who went out of his way to be popular, yet really wanted no part of the popularity scene. It was confusing, it troubled me greatly. I would spend hours just trying to fit Gerard together, organize him in my mind. I couldn't wrap my finger around the constant swirl of hate, misery and perfection that swirled around him, and I so desperately wanted to understand.  
  
It wasn't as if I wasn't used to Gerard, I lived with him and we shared gym. I was used to him in the way one would be used to having a ghost in the house; I knew he was there, and I knew he was searching for something yet he remained a mystery, hidden in shadow and constantly obscured from my full view, always caught in the corner of my eye.  
  
It amazed me, it really did. That Gerard could lead such a double life, such a lie and not tear himself apart. Or maybe Gerard did tear himself apart; he seemed to be broken in an almost unfixable way. I couldn't help but wonder sometimes if the pieces to the puzzle I called Gerard were even capable of fitting together, or if they mirrored each other and couldn't connect, couldn't come together and make a logical picture.  
Sometimes it seemed helpless.  
  
Like the days Gerard would throw a half hearted smile at my parents, only to cry himself to sleep at night. He definitely had damage, but I found myself wanting to inspect every wound and scar until I could name where every one was and how it got there. Maybe I was too curious, maybe I was getting too interested. Maybe I was annoying Gerard.  
  
I didn't care, though. Didn't care if Gerard couldn't stand me, didn't care if Gerard wanted nothing more than to get me out of his life. Gerard interested me, as things so rarely did. He was somewhat of a novelty.  
  
He was something completely new to me, something yet to be discovered by anyone. He was bright while swirling dark all around his edges and core, dead while living a seemingly full life. It was kind of ironic, that he was the only one left alive of his family yet the only one actually dead. Funny how that worked out.  
  
There was something in Gerard that kept me captivated, most likely the new revelations I was always finding. He was tricky, most certainly an enigma, but I refused to back down. I wanted to know everything about Gerard, I wanted him to be happy and I wanted to focus on him as the school days went by, I wanted something so unstable it could detonate at any minute without warning. Gerard was everything I needed, and as cruel as it may be to watch him suffer, that's what I did.  
  
Gerard Gerard Gerard Gerard. It was all gerard, all the time. I took my time staring at him at dinners, Ray got pissed at me for staring at him during lunch. He pretended not to notice me at school, but he asked me at home to leave him alone at school. Of course, I didn't. He was my lovely specimen, my toy and my muse.  
  
I wrote songs about him. Horribly moody, songs that came in and out of reality, songs that sounded like a shattering soul and an unhelpful drone of useless noise at the same time. The songs were somehow strong on the surface, forceful and hard, but there was an undercurrent of melancholy, a weak beat or two that captured the deep, dark and dangerously full Gerard.   
  
Full, he was so full. Full of every emotion he should never have to feel, every emotion that should never have to be felt.   
  
It's cases like Gerard that lead me to believe that suicide isn't wrong; it's the situation that causes the action that's so vile. People commit suicide because they're broken, bored or in love. Bored or in love, Gerard was not. But Gerard certainly was broken, was split into millions of pieces that I needed to put back together. Somehow, I needed to find a glue that I could apply to Gerard. But where could I find such a thing?  
  
I didn't know, so I continued to watch Gerard for any crack that I could help fix, any piece of him I could sew back together. I didn't know how to help, I stayed up late at night just thinking about how I could help Gerard, how I could get him to tell me every single piece of his should. How could I get him to cough up his heart for me to examine? It's all I wanted to know, so I watched him.  
  
Apparently the popular friends of Gerard noticed my interest in their friend, not a good thing for me. I wasn't a stranger to bullying, but it hadn't been bad at this school as it had been at others. The bullies just left him alone, Frank soon found out, it wasn't that there weren't any. Crayons and clay was thrown at him in art class, and by the end of the week I had a broken finger from his hand being slammed into a locker.   
  
All Gerard did to acknowledge the incident was mutter a quick "Sorry."


	7. Fuck Believing, We're Screwed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another time at school, another blank face, but a strange emotion burns an artificial surface.

They shoved me against the lockers, no doubt bruising my back in the process as it slammed against the bulging metal locks. I gasped for air, I wished they would stop but they didn't. They didn't stop, they kept hitting me and hitting me.  
  
"Got a thing for Gerard, do ya, fag?" One of them sneered. Gerard's friend. Some of Gerard's friends were the ones doing all of this to me, breaking my body. I had been looking at Gerard again, trying to figure him out and his friends got the wrong idea again.  
  
Again. Again and again their fists connected violently with my body, beating me, spitting names at me. It was almost funny, how everyone said the same words in a different way when they hit me, when they tried to break me. They tried so hard to break me, too. I'm sure it showed on my face.  
  
I didn't stop looking at Gerard though, even if my parents gave me worried looks about my injuries. I didn't care much about the pain, the torment. It didn't matter, as long as I could find out more about Gerard. He was my focus, my everything in a twisted way. He was important to me in a distant way, something I cared about deeply but didn't try very hard to get close to him. I didn't, let me clarify, get myself close to him, but I wanted him to let me know everything about him. I wanted a one sided relationship, but I didn't really have any secrets to tell so it really didn't matter.  
  
It didn't hurt inside, to be bullied so much by my peers. It should have, it should have hurt more than it did on the inside. But it didn't, because my fixation, my obsession with Gerard overcame any pain, put their words to the back of my mind. The only thing that really irked me was the broken finger; I couldn't play the guitar whilst it healed. That was awful.  
  
Bullying was just another useless part of my schedule, one that distracted me from Gerard. I hated it, it took time away from the hours and hours of research I could be doing, the observations I could be making of the foster kid. Bullies. Whether they hurt me or not they were useless, something that could be done without. I hated them, I hated their harassment.  
  
I was such a strange person.  
  
In my school, I doubt you would have found another such as I was. No one else was obsessed in a possessive and curious manner on Gerard Way, no one else carried a roll of toilet paper around in their back pocket when they got sick. No one else was like me, but that would be okay. Why would I want someone else to be me when I already had that job covered?  
  
I was just a curious sort, but that was fine. I could stalk Gerard in the not most discreet way imaginable, living my life and harassment took a backseat to my obsession. You have to pick your poison, they say, and I chose Gerard Way. Such a lovely obsession, so strange in the simplest complexities that was merely him. A mystery, an enigma.   
  
Watching Gerard, being beaten against the lockers. I persevered through the harsh treatment, nothing could stop me from getting at my muse. I lived for a very few things, and Gerard somehow ended up on the list. I was so obsessed, so helplessly entranced by his behavior it would surprise even the wisest man, the smartest woman. I was insane in a strange way, in a perhaps dangerous way. Gerard drove me, somehow, to insanity. Amazing what a split attitude can do to an onlooking teen somewhere in the audience. It really wasn't my show, but I as determined to poke into Gerard's life when I could and get away with it, again at a distance. I didn't, after all, want to scare him too much.  
  
Day after day after day they threw me in the locker, left me in there to have mini panic attacks because of my claustrophobia. They didn't, of course, know I had claustrophobia, but that really didn't make things any better. I still had it, I still hated the lockers. I hated everything in the school, except possibly Ray and Gerard. Ray and Gerard, but mostly Gerard, kept my life stable... In an unstable sort of way.  
  
Ray was always thinking up conspiracy theories, including a rather alarming one that involved frozen vegetables, and Gerard. Well. Was Gerard. He was a total ass at school, but he didn't actually say too much anymore, I noticed. He would occasionally converse with one of the jocks or cheerleaders, but mostly he would listen in on their conversations and give them advice. From the times I heard it, it was actually decent advice to give. Fuck, it was great. As if Gerard knew how to solve any problem but the one that engulfed his life, and mine.  
  
I was trapped in a locker, once again. I was going to have to wait for someone to come and get me, ugh, save me. The walls… They were so close, closing in on me. It seemed as if they were getting closer, and I was getting smaller. I could hardly get in a breath, hardly collect myself. I felt trapped, I felt alone and not even my muse (Gerard) could get my mind off the closeness of the cold metal surrounding me. I was stuck, trapped, I was going to die, the walls were going to close in on me like they did in the garbage chute in Star Wars, only I didn’t have an R2D2 handy to reverse the metal surrounding me, squeezing me and sucking the life out of—and then it stopped.  
  
I tumbled out of the locker, someone had opened the wretched contraption and set me free. I was fine, I could breathe again. I looked up, smiling at my savior. My eyes widened. It was Gerard.  
  
“Look…” He started, not looking at me in the eyes. “Stop staring at me. It’s only going to hurt you. Like this. They’re going to keep pulling stunts like this. I don’t care if you do it elsewhere, but…”  
  
“So I can’t stare at you at school but I can stare at you at home?” I asked for clarity. No, I just wanted to hear his voice speak more to me. He was always talking with his friends around here, buy he hardly spoke a word at home. I wanted more of him, but it seemed he didn’t want more of me.  
  
“Sh! If someone heard you…” He shakes his head.  
  
“You’d lose that popularity you hate?” I shrugged. “I don’t get why you keep it if you don’t even want it.”  
  
He looked at me for a minute, as if determining every aspect of me and his situation all at once. “I… I’m not going to tell you what goes on in this mind.” He smiled sadly. “But I can say that I’m going to fight very hard for this popularity, listen to music I don’t like and talk to the people I don’t like.”  
  
“Screw the cheerleaders you ‘don’t like’.” I scoffed.  
  
Gerard frowned. “I… Frank, don’t tell anyone but…”  
  
“What?” I asked, perhaps a bit too eager.  
  
He pulled away. “Nothing. Never mind, just stop looking at me so much.”  
  
But I didn’t want to stop.


	8. Fuck Heaven I'm Going to Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Does talking to yourself mean you're insane? Because he certainly is.

  
I wasn't done staring at Gerard, though. Ray even left me alone at lunch on most days to stare at the boy that puzzled me so much. There were more lockers, at least twice a week, and without fail he'd be there every day. Every day he'd be there right on time, his time, not too late to keep me from having a panic attack, but late enough to not have to deal with his friends.   
  
He was an exceptionally sneaky person, I learned. He could get away with being intoxicated, because he wasn't a loud drunk, he just acted normally. He could get away with liking the things he liked because he was smart enough to hide it, and well educated enough to know what everyone else liked. He could get away with saving Frank on his biweekly trips to the lockers because no one knew any better, and he intended to keep it that way.  
  
Gerard was also the master of evasion, as I quickly found out. I asked him, every day, what he was about to say to me the first time he pulled me out of that locker. He didn't answer, wouldn't look at me. Sometimes he just walked away. I just couldn't get him to spill his guts to me. It was annoying,mute so intense and intriguing. And... I started to feel something beyond intrigue for Gerard.  
  
I... Was surprised, to say the least, when I woke up with a disgusting sticky substance--semen-- in my pajama bottoms. Well, that wasn't the surprising part, nocturnal emissions aren't that rare, but it was more than that. I had been dreaming abut Gerard. Or more specifically, Gerard and I. I remember we were both coved in a good layer of sweat, our bodies on fire with the intensity of our deeds. I was ramming in and out of him, he was screaming my name as I hit his prostate over and over.  
  
I was so surprised, not only that it was _Gerard_ I had a dirty dream about, but more that I was into dick. I spent all my time being curious about Gerard and listening to music alone so I had never pondered much on my sexual orientation. For once, I hadn't wondered about it, gone out of my way to figure it out. I didn't care about myself and the mysteries of me, why should I when I could be researching everyone else? When I liked someone, then I could worry about it. I guess I had to worry about it.  
  
The dilemma; I liked the foster kid my parents were taking in for a year or so. He could be anywhere, across country for all I knew, in twelve months. I didn't want a relationship that could possibly go nowhere like the one that I could possibly have with Gerard. I thoughtc he was heterosexual, too. Isn't it a rule? To be popular you either have to be the muscley straight/deep in the closet dude or have pretty titties. Gerard... Heterosexual. I was certain of it. Gay boys aren't popular.  
  
But then, Gerard wasn't really conventionally popular.  
  
But I still wouldn't place my bets on Gerard being gay. Not really because of the probability of him being gay, something I didn't calculate, but for fear that he wouldn't be gay as well. What if he stopped saving me from lockers and claustrophobia? What if he helped the others at school shove me into the locker? I don't think I cold handle that.  
  
I... Is it a risk I should have taken? Just kissed him as he pulled me from a locker? Maybe ruined everything we had half constructed, or possibly put the last brick on the building of our relationship? Did we even have a relationship? I didn't know. But I wanted to find out.  
  
So I asked Gerard. Not the most discreet way of going about it, and I shouldn't have done it in a school hallway. It's not like I knew how Gerard would react. But that's it; I didn't know how Gerard would react, so I should have asked him the questions I had at home. Where if something sparked an awful memory, he could freak out without possibly losing his cool, his popularity. But I just had to know.  
  
"Gerard, are you a homosexual?" I asked one day as he helped me out of a locker.  
  
Gerard froze up. He was shocked by the audacity of my question, no doubt. It was rather straightforward, wasn't it? Well, I didn't know any better. To me, it was just a question. To Gerard... It was an inner battle.  
  
"I... I-I-I I'm straight? No, I'm gay. Wait. I'm straight. I'm not... But I have to be straight." Gerard just kept muttering to himself with wide eyes, unable to figure out his sexual orientation. He kept arguing about it to himself. How could he just not know? I wanted to ask.  
  
Then he started crying. On school grounds, where a passerby could easily see. His tears we thick and he was still trying to answer my question, but he couldn't. Something was blocking him. Something was keeping him from answering. I pulled him into a hug, probably not the best thing to do with potential bullies in the area, on the prowl for homo blood.  
  
"Dad said... Dad said I have to be straight!" Gerard sobbed into my shoulder. _Oh._ "He... He said I couldn't be into guys, that it was immoral and wrong! He said... He said I wouldn't be no son of his if I was homo..." Gerard was bawling into my shoulder, soaking my shirt with snot and tears. I pulled my arms around him, rubbing his back as he continued. "But Frank... I think, I think I am gay!"   
  
Gerard cried harder than before, a heart wrenching sob that could only mean true self loathing. Someone as beautiful as Gerard shouldn't have to cry for something so awful, something so stupid a homophobia. He should never have to cry. No one should, really. I hug him tighter.  
  
I let out a little huff of a laugh. "So if I were to ask you to go out for a coffee you'd refuse?"  
  
He tensed up again, then relaxed his shoulders and body. His sobs became less, his breathing more regular. He took a deep breath, and even though it w shaky it was stronger than before.   
  
"You'd want to date a broken freak like me?" He asked.   
  
I nodded. "Yes. We can... We can get through all of this. High school and such."  
  
He lifted his red and raw face up to look m in the eyes. His own hazel orbs were pained, but happy. "I would love to." And he kissed me, pressing his lips to mine in a simple, chaste thing.   
  
It was perfect, and so much more so because we didn't get caught and beaten to a pulp. Homo-hater free, a press of the lips slightly salty from Gerard's tears. I'll get him through this.


	9. Fuck Keeping It Together We're Crashing Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The End. 
> 
> So come on, come all, for this tragic affair...

Gerard and I, we became something more than I ever expected us to be in the next few weeks. He still didn’t talk to me all that much, but I could get the occasional word uttered in his worst and best moments. We shared more kisses. They were beautiful, endless, soul-filled yet secretive things and I loved them so much. They were Gerard, the action made me feel closer to Gerard, as if someday I could know what was going on with him. As if someday, he might want me around forever.  
  
I found I wanted it, having Gerard around forever. I was always thinking about him, even before we were in a relationship, and while our relationship was mostly physical I knew if would eventually become something more as Gerard opened up to me. I wanted him to open up, and one day I was.  
  
“Why do you try so hard to stay popular even when you don’t want it?” I asked breathlessly after one of our kisses.  
  
“My father anted it.” Gerard said without hesitation, attacking my lips again. That made me think. Made me wonder. How much of Gerard was Gerard just because he was Gerard, and how much of him was artificial and molded after his dad’s, or maybe his whole family’s, desires for him to be just so?  
  
I wanted to know, I _desperately_ wanted to know, but I knew I wasn’t getting an answer. Not with the way his tongue began moving in my mouth, the way I knew he was trying to distract me and he knew it worked. We stayed like that, kissing, eventually making out, on my bed. When our mouths were puckered and sore, and we were too tired t continue kissing, he rested his head on my shoulder and we stayed like that until my father called us down for dinner.   
  
Dinner that night was nice, Gerard and I had a conversation I can’t remember with my parents, then everyone retired for the evening. Gerard snuck into my room, and we stayed up late whispering about nothing and everything. There were kisses, too, but chaste little things. Little forget-me-nots, conversations sealed with our lips meeting briefly.   
  
Those were the good days.  
  
I didn’t think that things were ever going to go wrong—they were just so perfect already. But they did. Gerard got caught pulling me out of a locker one day. He was reckless, he just wanted me out of the locker and damn the popular kids if I wasn’t. But he got caught. He got kicked out of his group of friends, and that destroyed him more than he should have.   
  
That day, he screamed at me. He was more upset with himself, I know that now, but at the time it was terrifying. He began crying halfway through, and I just stood there limply, taking it all. I was crying, too, the tears staining my cheeks in a most unattractive manner, but I didn’t care. I was so scared, for me and for him. He was destroying himself and I couldn’t do anything bout it, he was destroying _me_ and I couldn’t do anything about it. He was just so upset, so angry, so incredibly pissed-off—

  
Frank stops writing, his tears dripping onto the half-filled paper. He can’t write about Gerard anymore, he just can’t. He can’t write about how Gerard and him stayed apart, in cold silence for weeks. They made up, they had to eventually, but there were still some scars from that battle. Frank can’t write about that.  
  
He can’t write about Gerard trying desperately to get back into the popular group, his breakdowns and the nightmares Frank couldn’t wake him up from, _wouldn’t_ wake him up from. When they finally got back together, the searing kiss that was so much more desperate, filled with so much more longing even than their first.   
  
He can’t write about how the popular kids found them making out in an empty hallway, the beating they got and the new screaming from Gerard, and about how that time the screaming wasn’t one sided. Argument after argument, they both went home in a rage. There was a cold, boiling silence at the dinner table that night. Gerard had to love himself, first, before he could love Frank, and that seemed to be becoming obvious. But Gerard couldn’t love himself, not when he blamed himself for his parent’s, and brother’s, deaths.   
  
They made up again, with more scars that didn’t make their relationship as pleasant and easy as it had been before. Frank can’t write about how Gerard took him to one of the popular boy’s parties, about how they weren’t greeted nicely and ended up soaked in various liquids. About how Gerard was lifeless in his eyes after that.  
  
He can’t write about how he and Gerard somehow managed to get ahold of a bottle of vodka, and about how Gerard managed to drink most of the bottle alone, Frank taking a sip or two. It burned his throat, but he welcomed the relief and feeling of being tipsy. Gerard, though. He was drunk.  
  
Frank isn’t sure if it was an accident or not, but he doesn’t want to write about the rest of that night. He doesn’t want to write about how the screaming honk of the horn, two headlights and a step into the street ended Gerard’s life. He doesn’t want to write about screaming for his boyfriend, hysterically calling an ambulance, he really doesn’t want to write about how Gerard managed to spit out the words “I love you” before he died, and about how much he didn’t want Gerard to die. He didn’t want Gerard to die. He wanted to be with Gerard forever.  
  
Frank leans back in the chair of his dimly lit room, tears silently dripping from his eyes. The funeral is tomorrow, and he has to say something there. Something nice. But he can’t. He’s too stuck on Gerard to think about their worse times, he can’t write a cliché speech either because Gerard would hate it. There’s no guide on how to write a speech for your boyfriend’s funeral, there’s no pre-set requirements except that it be honest.   
  
Frank doesn’t know why Gerard did it.   
  
He’ll never know, either.  
  
Did his walk stutter, or did he want to die?  
  
Did he want to leave Frank alone forever?  
  
What went through Gerard’s head, right before he got hit?  
  
Why did Gerard have to leave?

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! See you next chapter!


End file.
